


you & i

by marquis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Robbery AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:11:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marquis/pseuds/marquis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, Louis says they'll run away. They do. It isn't like Liam hoped it would be.</p><p>(The one where Louis is a robber, and Liam pretends not to know.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to be studying for finals when I started this? I also don't really know where it's headed or where it's going, as it has been approximately five hours since I started making it, so. I think it might grow to eat my life, along with some other fic you don't know about yet, but. C'est la vie.

“Liam,” he whispers, chin tucked over Liam’s shoulder. The glint in his eye is almost audible. “We could go anywhere. Anywhere you want.”

The bag on his bed is full of money. Real, legitimate, _stolen_ money. He knows that last bit without even having to ask, because no matter how long or how hard Louis has tried to save up his money, neither of them have even dreamed of having so much.

There’s no way he would be able to live with himself, knowing that. “Lou, I – what if they catch us? What if someone saw you? We can’t.”

“Oh, I wish they had seen me, Li,” Louis giggles, breath tickling Liam’s neck. “I wish they’d caught me on tape, sneaking my deadbeat dad’s gambling funds out of his sock drawer for years.” He nips at the skin under Liam’s ear before continuing; Liam wishes he could stop the way it makes his heart stutter, his breath hitch. “I wish they could see me make a life out of it with you - in a little house with a white picket fence, if you’d like.”

He would like that. He might even love it. But something is holding him back, tugging in the pit of his stomach. “What about your sisters, Lou?” he pleads, grasping at straws.

“Said goodbye to them already,” comes the reply, muffled into Liam’s skin. Louis is being even more affectionate than usual, hands running up and down Liam’s arms and chest pressed against his back. He must be standing on his toes, Liam thinks, and he smiles even if he doesn’t really want to. “Promised to come back for the holidays, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Lou, I…” Liam doesn’t know why he’s so hesitant. They’ve discussed this for years now, running away and starting over. It’s always been a sort of hopeless dream for him, and the fact that it might be made real has him waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the catch, to wake up from the dream.

Louis hums. “What is it, babe? Isn’t this what you want?” He’s trying not to sound nervous, but Liam can hear the uncertainty hovering under the surface. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, too, Liam realizes. Only the other shoe is actually him, and when he’ll hit the ground the second he walks out the door.

It’s not really fair of him. This _is_ what he wanted, what he _wants_. This is everything he’s been dreaming of since the moment he met Louis on the street corner, playing tunelessly on his guitar in hopes of being able to afford something for dinner. When Louis had tossed in more money than he should have, considering the hole in the toe of his shoe and his threadbare coat.

Louis was always the one throwing money away on Liam. Always the one taking care of him when he needed it. Maybe that’s the problem; Liam doesn’t deserve someone who cares as much as Louis does. He’s nothing special. He’s not worth spending money on. He’s a poor kid in a foster home, with nothing to contribute to anything.

“You’re awful quiet, Li,” Louis tells him, and Liam realizes that he’s been silently staring at the money for a lot longer than he should have. Louis has stepped away from him a bit. Liam’s back feels cold without him there.

“Why are you always taking care of me?” Liam asks, because he can’t just let it go now it’s in his head. “Why do you keep coming back?”

He turns to watch Louis answer, has to see his face and know he isn’t lying about it.

“Oh, Liam,” he sighs, and Liam can see the sadness there in his eyes. He feels it like a knife. “I love you.”

It’s hardly even a whisper, but it rings in Liam’s ears like a clock striking midnight. He knew, of course – they both did; it would be near impossible not to – but they’ve never _said_ it, not out loud, not like this. Not with that smile and the little crinkles on the sides of Louis’ eyes, not with the way Liam’s hands are shaking at his sides.

“I love you, too,” Liam replies, voice thick and hoarse. The words feel like they get caught up in his throat, coming out mangled and ugly, but Louis doesn’t mind. Louis never minds. That’s the problem. “Can we – we can really go? We can do it?”

“Yes,” and it’s a breath but it feels like a gust of wind, knocking Liam back until he has to sit on the edge of the bed. Louis rushes to sit down beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and holding his hand with his free hand. The pound notes crinkle beneath them. “Where do you want to go, love?”

\--

It happens so often that Liam stops questioning it. Louis will come home with an envelope, and even if he doesn’t show Liam what’s in it, he knows.

There are no sock drawers to slip that kind of money out of, not anymore. But still he finds it, still he brings it home, still he lets Liam get on without a job or any sort of income. He feeds them and pays the rent and he’s even trying to get them a dog, but.

Liam is afraid to know where those envelopes come from. He’s afraid to find out that his suspicions are true. So he pretends he doesn’t see them and he pretends he doesn’t know, and if sometimes Louis comes home with nasty bruises, he hands over an icepack without asking questions.

It’s the elephant in the room. Liam will not be the one to send it stampeding into the streets.

\--

“You’ve been upset for a while,” Louis says to him one morning, pressed against his chest beneath the bedclothes that Liam _knows_ they shouldn’t be able to afford. “Is something wrong?”

He doesn’t want to talk about it. If Louis isn’t going to admit that he’s caught up in something, then neither is Liam. “No,” he says, and they both hear it ringing false in the quiet morning air. His chest feels hollow. Liam doesn’t remember when that became normal.

“You can talk to me.” Louis’ voice is soft and gentle, but when Liam looks down, he sees the cut under Louis’ eye, the way the bruise still lingers there like a stain. Proof that this, whatever it is, isn’t working. “I want to help,” he insists, punctuating each word with a press of his lips to Liam’s skin.

“I’m sorry,” Liam says. _I don’t think you can_.

Louis hears what he doesn’t say. Liam pulls him closer and wishes he never had to let go, wondering exactly how this all went so wrong.

\--

When the police come, Liam isn’t even surprised. He lets them in, shows them around the flat – the bed is made, the laundry’s all put away, and Louis is out; there’s nothing to hide here – and fixes them some tea, if only because it might make them both look a little bit less suspicious.

“So what does your, uh,” the man struggles to find the right word. It doesn’t bother Liam; sometimes he does that, too. “What does Mr. Tomlinson do for work?”

Liam shrugs. “Desk job. Works with numbers.” This is what Louis always says, when Liam asks. “I’m not all that interested in maths, so I’ve never bothered to ask more.” Also true, at least in part.

The man nods. He draws the silence out for as long as he can, taking a sip from his cup. It’s obvious that he’s trying to make Liam anxious, get him fidgeting; it’s not going to work. Liam stopped fighting a while ago. There’s nothing to feel guilty about if he has no real idea of what’s going on.

The second policeman is examining the photos on the refrigerator, sent from Louis’ family and friends back home. There’s nothing of Liam’s there; what would he even get, if his foster parents knew where he was?

“These are quite nice,” he says, although he doesn’t sound particularly interested. “Who are the girls?”

“Louis’ sisters,” Liam replies. And then, because he knows it will make them believe in Louis’ innocence, “The whole family is really very close. Louis was raised in a lovely home.”

The rest of the visit is stiff and uncomfortable; Liam barely even feels it, numb to everything by now. He lets the men out of the flat and shuts himself in the bathroom, turning on the shower so he’ll have some excuse for being in there when Louis comes home.

\--

There’s a bag on Liam’s bed, and he’s having flashbacks to a moment years ago. Instead of hastily folded clothes, the bag had been filled with bills. Instead of Louis moving frantically around the room, he’d been tucked up in Liam’s space.

He remembers, dimly, a sense of foreboding. Now he doesn’t feel much of anything at all, placing his toothbrush in the side of the bag and zipping it up. There’s no finality. There’s no attachment. They’ve lived in this apartment long enough for Liam to call it home, and now they’re leaving, and it’s like something inside of him is broken. He should be surprised, or angry, or resistant.

It doesn’t feel like there’s anything left to fight for.

“Liam, babe, you did so well,” Louis praises him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “So, so proud of you,” he says. As if what he’s done was so difficult. As if fixing up some tea is the most important thing Liam has ever done.

There is money, even now. All of those envelopes Liam never asked about, tucked safely away in the glove compartment of their car in the driveway. “Where are we going?” Liam asks, because he has to know.

Louis wraps an arm around his waist and tugs him in close. Liam feels a flicker of something he’d forgotten, something warm and familiar and _alive_ , in the pit of his stomach. The heat in the coals on the morning after, low orange light that can warm your hands if you hold them close enough.

He pulls Louis in and kisses him like he’s a dying man. And maybe he is. Maybe they both are.


	2. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't home. It shouldn't be home. These people are the ones who dragged Louis down, who made him what he is now. And yet, Liam thinks, most of them aren't so terrible. And if he can help Louis, well. He'll do whatever it takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this part to be 10k and we're about 500 words short of that goal but honestly I have bigger fish to fry so like??? 9.5k will have to tide you over until I type up the interlude. This isn't even the main part of it anyway, I don't think; I'm most excited to write part two. Also you might not be too happy for ending it where I did but like. Meh. I'm sad, you're sad, everybody's crying. It's fair.
> 
> (As predicted, this fic has taken over my life. All of it.)

Louis tells him that they’re going somewhere safe, where police and trouble can’t find them. Liam believes half of it, but experience has taught him that trouble doesn’t even have to look; Louis brings it along with him wherever he goes, a bag on his shoulder or gum on the bottom of his shoe. Wherever they’re going, it isn’t going to keep Louis from doing whatever he does to get his money.

The house is bigger than Liam expected, but that makes sense; if the people they’re going to live with are a part of whatever Louis is, they can afford whatever they want.

There’s a girl knitting on the porch. She smiles and waves like Liam is an old friend, but it looks a little menacing; the entire setting is very surreal. “Hullo Lou, Liam,” she says, and Liam _knows_ that the face he makes is ridiculous.

Louis slips his hand into Liam’s and squeezes, smiling up at him. “Don’t worry; that’s just Pezza. She’s a friend.”

“That’s Perrie to you,” she says to Louis, rolling her eyes. “Only the cute ones get to call me Pezza.” She – _Perrie_ – winks at Liam. He feels the blood rush to his face and looks down at his fingers, weaved in with Louis’ own. “Awful quiet, your Liam.”

“He’s a bit nervous, I think.”

Liam would like to object to that, but he doesn’t quite know how. The knot in his belly isn’t nerves; it’s apprehension, a knowledge that this woman could very well be the one who ends up getting Louis thrown in jail. It’s knowing that everyone they’ll meet today is in on something he isn’t, that he doesn’t _want_ to get mixed up in, and that they have Louis tied to their fingers like a puppet they can control.

The silence gets a touch uncomfortable, both Louis and Perrie waiting for Liam to speak up. When he doesn’t, Louis nudges him, leans in and stands on his toes to reach his ear. “C’mon then, love, let’s go get settled,” he urges softly, like Liam might bolt if he isn’t careful.

He might have been right, a year or two ago. As it is, Liam isn’t sure he has it in him to run anymore; he just nods. For the first time since she said his name, he looks Perrie in the eye. “Pleasure meeting you, Perrie,” he tells her. It sounds a bit metallic.

There’s something like curiosity in the way the corner of her mouth pulls to the side when she grins. Feline and feral, like. “The pleasure is all mine, Liam,” she says, and motions toward the door with a needle. It almost looks too sharp between her thin, pale fingers. Claws.

The house is pristine inside, exactly the opposite of what Liam might have anticipated. The floor is hardwood and worth more than he is, probably, and the sofas in the room look as though they’ve never once been sat on. Louis seems surprised, too, but for a different reason.

“Niall!” he shouts. Liam jumps, about ready to duck and cover before he sees the boy standing in front of them, plate full of food in hand.

He smiles at them through a mouthful of sandwich. “Lou!” he exclaims. “You came!”

Liam wonders for a moment how anyone could ever be surprised by that.

“Some folks came looking for me,” Louis replies easily, as if those _folks_ weren’t the police and he had nothing to worry about. “I didn’t much want to see them.” Niall nods like he understands; Liam realizes after a moment that he probably does. “What about you? I thought you might have moved out after…?”

Niall shakes his head. “Nah, all that is taken care of. Nothing to worry about.” This is the first time he hasn’t sounded particularly excited by what he’s saying; it’s peculiar, a bit. Then he must notice Liam, though, because the smile comes back full force. “Is this your Liam?”

It might get a bit irksome, constantly being _Your Liam_. He speaks for himself this time; Niall is considerably more approachable than Perrie was, regardless of what mess he’s probably tangled up in. “I suppose I am,” he interrupts, before Louis can speak up, “although I think I just prefer Liam.”

Niall lets out a loud laugh, as if Liam’s just said the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Right then, Liam it is! I’m Niall. I’m sure you’ll meet the whole gang eventually, but you should probably know that every damn one of them is a crazy mofo, except for myself.”

Liam doesn’t think he’d mind putting that off just a little bit longer. He looks over to Louis, who must see something in his expression, because his smile falters just a little bit when he turns back to Niall. “Let’s take a rain check on that, I think, mate.” It looks like Niall understands; he nods and motions to the stairs.

“You know which room is yours, then. Don’t be late to dinner!”

Their room is the second door on the left; Liam knows without Louis saying anything, at least in part because there’s a post-it with their names on it. Inside is a tiny bed loaded up with quilts and a closet with some towels inside of it. Liam sits on the bed, dropping his bag to the floor.

Louis is on him in a second, straddling his hips and pressing feather-light kisses all over – his cheeks, his nose, his neck. It’s instinct by now to grab onto him and hold him in place, but Liam isn’t entirely sure he wants to do this now.

“You’re doing so well,” Louis breathes, enunciating each word with a kiss or a nip. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

It’s the second time that Louis has said that to him without reason; Liam files it away to think about later, when Louis is out doing god knows what tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. What is there to be proud of when all he’s doing, all he’s ever done, is trailed behind?

They don’t end up making it to dinner.

\--

Meeting everyone is a very slow process. The house is busy, and no one is ever there all at once. Even the dinners, supposedly a very traditional affair, usually consist of two or three people seated at a table set for eight. For the first week there, Liam doesn’t meet very many people; there’s Perrie, always knitting or sewing or watching Liam like he’s a mouse she’d like to catch, and there’s Niall, always smiling and laughing at nothing.

But Liam has his own habits, one of which is to get up considerably earlier than Louis ever will. Sometimes, after he’s gone for a run or watched some early morning television, there will be someone else in the kitchen with him. A boy with curly hair and a strange ability to sneak around silently, despite looking like he’s only got control over his limbs about forty percent of the time.

This, he knows now, is Harry. Today there’s a cup of tea set on the table across from him when Liam walks into the dining room, and when Liam looks at it, Harry offers him a slow smile, like honey dripping off a spoon.

“Right on time, Liam,” he says, nodding to the mug over his plate of egg on toast.

It’s the first time that they’ve actually spoken. Liam only even knows his name because he asked Louis one day. Even so, he moves to sit down and wraps his fingers around the mug. The morning fog had gotten him today, chilled him through, and he welcomes the warmth without thinking too much about it.

When he takes a sip of it, he’s surprised to find that it’s been made exactly how he likes it. Perhaps he shouldn’t be. “Thank you,” he remembers to say, a bit belatedly.

“Eight sugars and some milk,” Harry responds. “How tragic, ruining good tea like that.”

Liam still feels a little wary, but he plays along. “You sound like Louis,” he says.

“That’s because Louis is the one who said it. He saw me making it this morning.”

It’s surprising. Louis isn’t one for getting up before noon, much less for getting out of bed. He will sometimes, if coerced, but even Liam isn’t always successful in that. “Louis is awake?” he questions.

Harry nods. “He’s gotten up early since you two got here.” He pauses to take a bite out of his toast, seemingly oblivious to Liam’s confusion. “I think he’s worried you’ve left for good, whenever he wakes up and you aren’t there.”

“That’s – I mean, I don’t think that it’s any of your business.” It’s defensive and ineffective, Liam knows, but it also distracts him from the guilty feeling twisting around in the bottom of his stomach. He’s not quite sure he wants to have this conversation right now, particularly with a complete stranger.

Harry doesn’t seem to mind. He shrugs. “I would worry, too, if I were him. You haven’t exactly taken well to this change in scenery.” The way he talks is slow and sleepy, as if he’s taking the time to roll every word around in his head before he says it. It’s driving Liam a little bit mad, waiting so long for him to finish a thought.

“You don’t know that,” Liam insists. It’s a weak argument, mostly because Harry _does_ know, somehow. The people in this house with Liam aren’t a normal group, and Harry is apparently particularly gifted at knowing more than he should ever have any right to.

Harry grins at him again, slow and Cheshire-like. “Oh, now, Liam,” he scolds, “we both know that isn’t true.”

“I don’t understand,” he states, not even bothering to try and keep up with the conversation anymore. He doesn’t understand, not at all, and maybe he never will.

“Maybe you should try and make yourself at home, Liam,” Harry tells him. “It’ll make everything loads easier on everyone if you stop walking around on eggshells.”

Liam wonders, not for the first time, if this is even real. He watches Harry collect his dishes and stand up, making his way over to the kitchen. When he makes it to the doorway, he seems to stumble – Liam can’t imagine what it is he might have tripped over; there’s nothing there – and only just catches himself, fork and knife clattering to the ground at his feet.

He turns to smile sheepishly at Liam. “Sorry,” he apologizes, as if he’s done something wrong. “Enjoy your tea, Liam.”

It’s entirely possible that Liam is dreaming. Harry almost doesn’t seem like a real person. He tucks the advice away in his head, though, trying to figure out exactly what Harry meant by making himself at home.

Louis has always been home for him, and Louis is still here. It shouldn’t be very hard,

\--

It isn’t until the fourth day at the house that Liam finally learns what it is that Louis has been up to for so many years. Even then, Louis isn’t the one who tells him.

Zayn, the one with the tattoos and the glasses and the very unusual hair, brings it up over lunch, when the house is quiet and Liam knows without asking that everyone else is out on a job. “You’d be a real help, if Louis would ever let us ask,” he says, apparently out of the blue. When Liam looks up from his plate, he finds Zayn eyeing him curiously. “Me, I’m just here for the techy things, like shutting off the cameras and wiring money. But you could hold your own out there, couldn’t you?”

It takes a moment for Liam to process the question, and even when he understands, he’s not entirely sure he knows how to answer. “That depends on what you lot are up to.” He shrugs and takes another bite out of his sandwich, hoping that it will be enough to weasel out some more information.

Zayn gapes. “You helped Louis with the police, Liam. You came with him to a house full of strangers when you _knew_ that he was bad news. Are you telling me that you did that without even knowing what sort of bad news it was?”

Another shrug seems to be the final straw for him. He pushes his chair back and marches out of the room. “Come on, then; you deserve to know.”

Liam follows Zayn through the maze of the house, down into a basement that he hadn’t even known was there. The room is dark but for a desk lamp and what must be ten or fifteen computer screens, each one buzzing through letters and numbers faster than Liam can keep up.

Zayn drops down into a chair and spins to face the keyboard, typing in a code. “I don’t want you to freak out on me here, Liam, alright?” he says. “Louis has his reasons for not telling you, and I’d like to keep him from knowing that I was the one who let the cat out of the bag.”

“I won’t tell,” Liam promises, and he means it. He’s spent years trying to figure out the way that Louis makes his money; whatever the truth is, it can’t possibly be worse than what he’s imagined it might be.

“Course you won’t.” It sounds a bit like an order.

One of the screens shifts. Instead of numbers and code, Liam can see Louis and Perrie. They’re inside a car, it looks like, and wearing matching frowns. Perrie’s hair is dark and she’s got glasses on, too, same as Zayn; if Liam hadn’t expected to see her, he wouldn’t have known who it was. Louis has his hair slicked and styled up in a quiff, and he’s wearing what looks to be a very expensive suit.

“Niall has the girls.” Perrie’s voice is distorted by the static, but Liam understands her well enough. “They’re on location already, just in case.”

“Good,” Louis replies, stiff in the way he gets when he and Liam are fighting. When he’s unhappy. Liam wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to do this and they can stop, they can make a decent living in a way that doesn’t feel so wrong, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“Harry’s on his way,” Zayn says, and Liam is confused until he looks down and finds that Zayn is wearing a headset. Louis and Perrie both jump a little on the screen.

“A little warning next time,” Perrie reprimands. “I almost swerved into the other lane.”

Zayn nods, as if she can see him. “Noted. He’s got the target in site, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone else in the car. I think everything is going to run smoothly today.”

“About damn time,” Louis huffs, and Liam feels a little tightness in his chest. Had there been complications recently?

He bites his lip, but he doesn’t say anything. Zayn still has the headset on.

The car stops. Louis and Perrie get out and Zayn types frantically away at his keys until the screen goes back to being one string of code after another. A different screen lights up, and this time Liam is watching the scenery pass by. It’s a restaurant, dimly lit and obviously high-quality. He wonders where this camera is until the view shifts and he’s looking right at Louis. The camera is Perrie’s glasses.

“Are you getting the feed, Zayn?” he asks.

Again, Zayn nods before answering. “Perfectly clear,” comes the reply. “Niall, Jesy, and Leigh are in the back corner. Try to get a booth away from the windows, if you can.”

That’s the last instruction that Zayn gives before taking off the headset and sitting back in his chair. Liam watches the feed, too curious to actually say anything about it; Perrie and Louis are led to a booth near the back, just like Zayn told them, and after a few minutes, another man comes and takes a seat across the table.

Liam can hear soft sounds of the conversation coming from the speakers in the quiet of the basement, but he doesn’t listen to the words. He watches, entranced, as Louis and Perrie convince this man, over a glass of wine and a meal that was probably more expensive than anything Liam owns, to pull out his checkbook. He watches as the digits are written down, a seemingly endless string of zeroes, and as the signature is scrawled across the bottom line.

The meal is over just like that, and Zayn is putting the headset back on. “Great, lovely,” he breathes into the headset, quieter than he was before. “Now get out of there before he realizes you didn’t pay the bill.”

Louis laughs, bright and vibrant. “Brilliant,” he says.

And just like that, it’s over. The screen goes dark and nothing new appears. Zayn checks his phone, probably to see if Niall or Harry has texted him anything, but they haven’t.

“Aren’t you going to watch?” Liam asks, feeling a bit of a panic starting in the pit of his stomach. “Make sure they come home alright?”

Zayn shrugs. “That’s what cell phones are for, mate,” he mutters, standing up and making his way back toward the stairs. “And anyway, there’s nothing more for you to see. That’s how we make our living.”

“I still don’t-” Liam starts.

“We convince people who have more money than they need that they should invest some of it in us.” The stairs back up to the main level are steep, but Zayn takes them much quicker than Liam does; he finds himself hurrying to keep up. “Sometimes, if we’re tight on cash or if no one’s come after us for a while, we’ll rob a bank or two. Quick money and the like. But most of our time goes into making connections with people who like to throw their money away, and getting them to believe that we’ll do something useful with it.”

“And that really works?”

They’re back in the kitchen now. Zayn sits down and starts in again on his lunch, shrugging nonchalantly. Liam follows his lead, if only because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Most of the time.”

Something still isn’t sitting right with him. Louis had sounded relieved when Zayn said the man was alone, and he’d laughed when it was over. Like he was surprised. Like he was delighted.

“What would you ever need me for?” he questions. It’s not that he wants to know, but rather that he needs to; something in his gut is twisting and pulling at him, telling him that he has to help. If they need him, if _Louis_ needs him, he couldn’t ever say no.

The atmosphere around the conversation has shifted, as if Zayn knows what it is that Liam’s getting at. He probably does. His next words are careful and cautious. “It isn’t always this easy,” Zayn’s not looking at him now, eyes pointed to the window behind Liam’s head. “Sometimes, a client will have heard about us through his friends. He’ll have an idea what we’re up to, and he’ll bring along some jocks to rough us up a bit. Teach us a lesson, and that.”

Liam remembers Louis coming home some nights with bruises, palms imprinted on his collarbones and purple shadows across his back. He’d never explained, never said why; Liam had never asked. He knows now that he should have.

“What happens then?” The words are shaky, scared. Liam wishes he wasn’t so easy to read.

Zayn looks Liam in the eye, finally. His words are crisp and clear. “We have six people out there for a reason, Liam.” It’s probably supposed to sound reassuring; it isn’t. “Louis is not in any danger.”

 _But what if one day he is_? Liam wants to ask. He bites his tongue. Zayn sighs.

“I think I understand why Louis never told you about it now.”

\--

When Louis and Perrie finally do get back, Liam almost loses it. He has to count his breaths to slow them down and clench his fingers into fists at his sides to keep from running over and tackling Louis to the ground – or punching him, or hugging him, or pushing him against the wall and shoving his tongue down his throat. There’s an entire list of options to choose from, and Liam isn’t entirely sure which one would convey his feelings accurately.

And Louis, well. He takes one look at Liam and he just _knows_. It seems like he’s going to yell at Zayn for a moment, jaw clenching and eyes narrowing. The silence is almost palpable; Perrie is eyeing the three of them warily, like a bomb is about to explode and she’s trying to find the safest way out of the building.

“He was going to find out eventually, Lou,” Zayn states, crossing his arms.

All of the tension goes out of Louis like a switch has been flipped. “I know,” he sighs. Liam’s waiting for some sort of cue, a hint as to what exactly his role is going to play in the next few minutes.

Apparently, he doesn’t have to decide at all; Louis walks over and wraps an arm around his waist. “C’mon then, love,” and Liam lets himself be led up the stairs and into their bedroom.

It’s difficult not to start fighting right when the door closes, trying to prove a point before Louis has even opened his mouth. He forces himself to sit down on the bed and watch while Louis takes his time dressing down, hanging up his jacket and unbuttoning the cufflinks on his shirt. It isn’t easy, and he can’t stop the way his fingers are tapping nervously against his thighs, toes pounding at the carpet.

Liam hasn’t felt like this in ages, like he’s ready to jump out of his skin. Like he’s an asset. Like he’s worth more than just keeping one side of the bed warm.

And it’s like Louis knows, because of _course_ he does. “Liam, please don’t,” he pleads. He’s watching Liam closely, so obviously upset that Liam feels himself deflate a little.

He doesn’t want to give up before the fight has even started, though, so he tries anyway. “Zayn said – he said that they want me to help. He said that I’d be good for something, Louis,” he tries, feeling how desperate he is all the way through to his bones.

Louis shakes his head. “You’d be wonderful, babe,” he concedes, toeing off his shoes and walking over to the bed. Liam watches as Louis leans down, closes his eyes when their foreheads touch. “You’d be particularly good, I think, at making me worried sick.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry!” It’s not going to work, and Liam knows that before he even says anything, but he can’t just let it go. “You’d be right there. And so would Perrie. Zayn would be watching. There’s nothing to worry about, really.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Louis’ face now, but when his eyes open, there’s still that hint of stubborn determination. “There’s plenty to worry about,” he argues, one hand moving up to grasp at the back of Liam’s neck. “I haven’t seen you like this in ages, Liam. Why do you want to help so badly? I thought you hated my lifestyle.”

A response to that isn’t easy, because Liam knows that Louis is right. He does hate it, well and truly loathes the idea of Louis getting mixed up in things like this. He remembers how he’d felt, watching Louis bringing home those envelopes in their old apartment, remembers even how he’d felt when Zayn had turned on the feed. The idea that this was dangerous, that Louis was getting himself in trouble, didn’t sit well with him.

“It would be different,” Liam decides, “if we did it together. If I could make sure you were safe.”

A laugh, and Louis pulls away before he starts talking again, making his way over to the closet to continue getting changed. “You mean that you want to feel like you’re doing something important,” he says, because he knows Liam better than anyone and there’s no way he didn’t figure out exactly what this was all about ten minutes before they even started talking.

“Yes,” admits Liam, because there’s no point in denying it.

The sweater that Louis pulls on is Liam’s, sleeves too big and falling over his hands. “You don’t like that I’m putting myself in danger to get us what we need while you lay around and sleep all the time. Makes you feel like you aren’t being fair to me.”

“I’m not,” Liam protests, because he sees where this is headed and he doesn’t like it very much. “I’m not being fair, letting you get into all of the trouble and taking advantage of the benefits like this.”

Louis looks ridiculous, wearing only a sweater and pants but with the quiff still standing tall and formal on his head. He throws himself on the bed and tugs at Liam’s sleeve until Liam gives in and lays down with him, pulling him in close.

“You’re being perfectly fair,” Louis scolds him. “You never asked for this, and, last I checked, you didn’t care for it. I don’t want you doing anything that you disagree with just so you can feel like we’re a proper, functioning couple.”

“Is that a no?”

Louis nods. “No chance in hell, babe. Sorry,” he mutters, although he doesn’t sound very sorry about it. Liam pouts, but it doesn’t do much; Louis moves in to kiss it away, humming nonsense into his mouth and over his skin.

If he can’t help Louis make horrible decisions, Liam decides, the least he can do is mess up that silly hairstyle.

\--

“Payner!” Niall calls, leaping over the back of the couch. His feet land heavily in Liam’s lap, and Liam squawks out in protest. “What are you up to?” He’s not up to much of anything, really, and he almost says as much, but then Niall is curling into his side and pressing a finger into his stomach. “I think you oughtta be careful, Liam,” he says.

It sounds like he’s worried, which. Liam didn’t think that Niall had the ability to be anything other than happy. It’s odd.

“What do you mean, Niall?” he asks, because this is something he wants to investigate and he knows that Louis will never answer him if he asks about it.

A shrug is his main response, and they sit together silently for a minute or two. Niall seems to be thinking pretty hard about something, and Liam is wondering, not for the first time, what it is that everyone seems to be keeping from him. Even after knowing what it is that they’re doing, even after watching it happen and talking to them about it over dinner, he still feels like there’s something they aren’t telling him.

“It’s just that,” Niall starts again, eventually, slowly, as if he’s afraid Liam is going to run away on him. “Well. It’s all fun right now, you know? It’s nice, living here with Louis, isn’t it?” Liam nods, trying to encourage Niall to continue without seeming too desperate for the information. “He brought you here to keep you safe from everything, you know?”

Liam nods. “I know, Niall.”

This doesn’t seem to deter him at all. “But it isn’t safe. What we do isn’t a game or anything to joke around with. People could get hurt. People _do_ get hurt.”

If there were anyone that Liam would have expected to have this conversation with, it wouldn’t have been Niall. Out of the entire group, Niall seems to be the one who treats it the most like a game, who sometimes doesn’t take it seriously enough. Again, Liam is reminded that there is something that he’s missing, a piece of the puzzle that no one has bothered to show him just yet.

“It’s alright, Niall,” Liam reassures him, placing a hand on his head in an effort to calm him down. “I’m here with Zayn. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“That’s not true, either,” Niall insists, shaking his head. “There’s always the chance that someone is going to find this place if we’re not careful, you know, and there’s only so much that Zayn can do about that. You have to know, Liam, that there might be a time where he tells you to run and you’ll have to run. Even if Louis isn’t here. You’ll have to go somewhere else.”

Liam nods. “I will. If Zayn tells me that we have to go, Niall, I’ll go. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Niall sighs, long and heavy. “Yeah, I do,” he says. But he sounds a little less worked up, and Liam tries very hard not to think too much of it.

\--

“I want to help.”

It isn’t the first time Liam has said it, and it’s certainly not going to be the last. Louis is staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

“No, Liam. Absolutely not. We’ve talked about this,” he insists.

Liam isn’t usually so stubborn. It isn’t like him. The entire time he’s known Louis, there’s been nothing to stand his ground on, really; given enough time, it’s more important to him that he and Louis stop fighting than it is to get his way. But this is something bigger. This is protecting Louis, this is helping him out and keeping him safe and watching over him the way that he’s been watching over Liam for so long, and he just. He wants to help.

“Why not?” he interrogates, even if he’s already heard the answer ten or twenty times before.

His question is met with a frustrated groan. Louis runs a hand through his hair and begins to pace back and forth. The tie he’s wearing has been pulled back and forth so many times in the past fifteen minutes that it no longer lies flat against his chest.

“Liam.” It’s curt and formal, and it _should_ tell Liam that he’s crossed a line. All it really does is tell him that he needs to try a little harder. “I told you. My name is already muddled up in this. If we get caught, I’m going to jail. But you – you’re safe, see? You’ve got no role in this, and no one can put you anywhere near the illegal stuff. If you can just convince everyone that, I don’t know, that I forced you into it, or you really had no idea it was going on, you’re safe. So long as you stay put.”

They’ve had this fight so many times that Liam already knows the reaction he’s going to get to almost anything he says. Even so, he tries. He stands up and walks over to Louis, putting both hands on his shoulders to stop his pacing. Liam reaches down and adjusts his tie, tugs at it and tightens it and smooths it down until it looks presentable again.

“If I’m not there, Lou,” he says, keeping his eyes on his fingers as they fiddle with Louis’ lapel, “how can I know that you’re safe?”

“Go and watch with Zayn,” Louis tells him, but his words are softer and his voice is quieter. His eyes look a little less like ice, a little more like the ocean. Liam wants to kiss him. “You can keep an eye on me from here,” he presses on.

Liam shakes his head. “That’s not any better than not knowing anything at all,” he protests, matching his tone to Louis’. “If I see something happen, and I know that I could have stopped it if I’d only been there, I’ll never be able to live with myself.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Louis whispers. It sounds like he might finally be giving up, just a little bit. “I wouldn’t be able to live at _all_ , knowing that it was my fault for getting you mixed up in everything.”

“I’m already mixed up in it, Lou,” Liam promises. “And it isn’t your fault.”

“Fucking _Zayn_ ,” Louis hisses through his teeth. Liam laughs a little bit, moving in to finally press their lips together.

“Is that a yes?” he questions as he pulls away, hopeful.

Louis’ eyes open slowly; he’s taking his time, Liam realizes, thinking it over. “Not today,” he murmurs, “and maybe not ever, but,” his brow furrows and his lips turn down in a frown, “if it means that much to you, I’ll think about it.”

Liam counts that as a win.

\--

Jesy is still very confusing to Liam, mostly because he’s not entirely sure what she does. Most of the time, it seems sort of like she follows Niall to wherever it is that Louis is going, and then she watches whatever is happening before turning around and coming back. It isn’t dangerous at all, not really, and if Liam could only figure her out a little bit more, she might be able to help him convince Louis that what they’re doing isn’t so dangerous, after all.

She doesn’t seem to be very willing to help, though, no matter how much Liam begs and pleads.

“I can’t teach you that,” she says, eyes never leaving her computer screen. “Louis would kill me.”

Liam nudges her with his shoulder, once, twice. “Then we won’t tell him, Jesy. Please?”

She sighs and shakes her head. “I don’t think I like the idea of you knowing how to shoot a gun either, Liam. It makes me feel like you’re actually going to do something with the information, and I don’t think anyone here is particularly fond of that idea.”

“With the lifestyle we’re all living, it’s a very practical skill to have,” Liam insists, moving closer until they’re pressed together from shoulder to ankle on the couch. “What if someone comes after you, and they end up here? It’s just going to be me and Zayn. One of us has to know how to protect the house.”

“Zayn already knows how to fire a gun,” Jesy informs him matter-of-factly. “And Louis has told us all about how you used to box in high school, Liam. I think the house is in good hands.”

He groans and throws his head back. “Jesy,” he whines. “Please?”

“How about this,” she says, moving to place her laptop on the table in front of them. “Instead of teaching you how to use a gun, I teach you something that takes a lot of practice and hard work.”

It sounds more interesting than sitting around and watching everyone else do exciting things, anyway. Liam nods. “Yes, please.”

Jesy looks him in the eye, contemplative. As if she’s searching for doubts, or a weakness she can exploit. “Alright, then. Follow me.”

She makes her way into the kitchen and Liam trails after her, impatient to finally feel like he’s got a place in the world that Louis has brought him into. Jesy keeps going until she reaches the set of steak knives hidden away in the corner.

“Ready?” she asks.

He nods, practically vibrating with the excitement.

Jesy doesn’t ask twice. She grabs the plastic handle of one knife and flings it at the wall, doesn’t even wait to see where it lands before she’s grabbing another one. A third follows, and then a fourth, and a fifth, until all ten have been thrown. Liam can feel the way his eyes have gone wide, how his mouth has dropped open at the display.

He knew that Jesy had some kind of knack for protecting herself. He had no idea it would be like this. A glance at the opposite wall reveals that the knives have all landed within inches of one another, each one stuck firmly in the wall.

Jesy grins at him.

“How did you do that?” he asks, running over to collect one of the knives from where it’s landed. It takes more effort to pull out than he might have thought.

“Movies, mostly,” she supplies, and it’s so full of shit that they both laugh a bit. “It took a long time, and a lot of patience. You don’t just start out throwing them, you know.”

“What do you do?”

Jesy walks over to the refrigerator and pulls it open, reaching in and revealing to Liam an apple. “You peel this.”

Liam looks at her incredulously. “You do what?”

“You take a knife and you peel an apple. All of the skin in one piece.” She nods toward the knife in Liam’s hands. “Don’t make any scratches or dents in it, either. Learn how to do that, and then we’ll talk about the more exciting stuff.”

It’s not a guarantee that she’s being honest with him; for all Liam knows, this is just an attempt to keep him entertained for a while. Even so, he’s willing to do whatever it takes to feel like he can be an asset to the people he’s found himself living with, even if it means doing pointless tasks meant to keep him out of their way.

Liam nods and takes the apple, moving over to the table and taking a seat.

Jesy leaves the room, presumably to get back to whatever it was she’d been working on before. Liam knows now that she isn’t going to help him at all with winning Louis over, but she’s given him something to work with. In the end, that’s more than he probably could have hoped for.

\--

It’s taken a while, but Liam thinks he’s finally got it sorted out. Leigh Anne is sitting in front of him, waiting patiently for him to start.

“So Louis and Perrie, they’re the faces. They’re supposed to make the buyers believe that it’s all real and earn their trust. One of them is there for every interaction.” That part was easy. Perrie’s a chameleon; she can change her hair, her eye color, everything about herself in an hour or two. She either blends in or makes the buyer pay attention to something that she can change later. Louis is the best actor out of the lot of them, and he’s charming enough that no one thinks twice about trusting him.

Leigh Anne nods and reaches for a biscuit, breaking it in half. “And?” she asks, before taking a bite.

“Zayn’s the brain. He makes sure that everyone is in position and everything is going to plan, and he can cut out camera feeds and hack security systems when it’s needed.” _And,_ Liam thinks, _an absolutely terrible fighter_.

“Three for three,” Leigh Anne praises him, wiping chocolate off her fingers with a napkin. “That’s nearly fifty percent of us right there, Liam.”

Liam grins, pleased, before continuing. “Harry’s the tail. He keeps an eye on the targets and makes sure they don’t associate with anyone we’ve dealt with before. It’s his job to make sure they don’t bring anyone that might cause a threat.”

He gets a smile and a nod for his efforts and presses on.

“Niall is the nose,” he continues. This is where it starts to get difficult. “He’s in charge of finding places that are low-security, or where there isn’t much chance of being recognized or identified. It’s his job to make sure that once we leave, no one who was there will be able to describe us to a sketch artist or a police officer. He can get us disguises and fake identities, too, that sort of thing.”

“Very good, Liam! Now what about Jesy and me? What do we do?”

“Well, um,” Liam takes a minute to try and sort it out. “You’re mainly for security reasons, aren’t you? The fists, I think. If something goes wrong, you’re supposed to get them all out of there without too much damage, or to tell them when something starts to look a bit funny. You’re supposed to do the worst of the fighting, if that’s what it comes down to.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, urging him on without saying anything at all.

“Jesy, she – um,” he can feel his face scrunching up, trying to remember what Leigh has told him. “Jesy is the distraction. If Louis or Perrie messes up, she’s supposed to – to knock something over, or scream, or set off the fire alarm. She’s supposed to make your job a little less necessary, or at least easier.”

Leigh Anne grins at him. “Congratulations, Liam! You’ve passed with flying colors. Do you want to try for the extra credit?” Liam can’t help himself; he nods excitedly. She leans over, moving closer to him and lowering her voice. “What will your job be, if Louis lets you tag along?”

He thinks it over for a minute. “Stand by the car and wait for you to ask for backup,” he decides, knowing that even if Louis ever did let him come along, that would be the best he could hope for.

“Good answer,” comes a voice from behind him.

Liam turns to face the intruder, a little bit alarmed. Louis is standing in the doorway, watching him with a thoughtful expression. “Leigh, what _have_ you been teaching our Liam?” It sounds like he already knows, though, so she doesn’t answer.

Instead, Leigh Anne pushes away from the table, brushing the crumbs off of her hands and dress. “I think I’ll leave you two to chat, then,” she tells them, making her way out the door. There’s no sound but the click of her heels against the floor for a few moments after that.

“This is something you really want,” Louis says. It isn’t a question; it sounds resigned, and maybe a little sad.

Liam shrugs, staring at his lap. “I just want to help,” he mutters.

Before he can even register that Louis has moved, he’s kneeling in front of Liam, moving to hold onto his hands. “Not yet, Li,” he insists. “Maybe one day, when we’ve gotten really good at it, but. Not when it’s still so risky.”

There’s a cough. Liam thinks he’s going to get whiplash, looking at the door as quickly and as often as he is right now. Harry is standing there, hands in the pockets of a suit jacket.

Louis frowns. “Right now?” he asks.

Harry’s mouth twists into a grimace. “That’s actually not what I’m here to talk to you about,” he hedges, slow voice dragging over every letter.

The tension flares almost immediately, Louis tensing like a rubber band pulled too tightly. “No,” he demands, voice so forceful that Liam almost doesn’t notice the way it splits down the center like ice cracking apart. “No, not yet.”

Whatever it is that they’re talking about doesn’t seem to sit very well with Harry, either. “Perrie just got the call. Mr. Cowell wants to meet with the two of you at three o’clock today.”

“Tell him we have another client,” Louis insists.

Harry shakes his head. “We can’t, Louis. He and Mr. Walsh are associates; the longer we put this off, the greater the chance that he’ll find out all about us.”

“But Niall and Jesy are still…?” And Liam can see the desperation in Louis’ expression, the way he’s hoping for an answer he knows he isn’t going to get. Harry nods, fighting to keep his face blank. “Can’t we call them?”

It’s obvious that he knows what Harry’s answer is going to be before he even gets it. “They’ll be gone until tomorrow. No phones, Lou,” and it sounds like a reminder, like some rule that Liam doesn’t know yet, “that’s the rule. He’d track the GPS if he had half the opportunity.”

“Fuck her and her damn rules!” Louis’ voice is rising with every word, cheeks turning pink in his frustration. “Talk to Zayn, please,” he begs.

“Zayn doesn’t know shit about field work, Louis.”

And Liam realizes with a start that there’s nothing left to talk about. They’ve got a job and they’re short a third of their team. He’s going to have to come along, and there’s nothing Louis can do about it.

He squeezes Louis’ hands to get his attention, presses a kiss to his lips like a promise. “I’ll do exactly what I said. I’ll stay by the car. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Damn right you’ll stay by the car,” Louis huffs. His voice is shaky, even as he tries to make it all into a joke. “You’ll stay _in_ the fucking car, you hear?”

Liam grins and nods. “Yeah, loud and clear,” he insists. Louis leans in to kiss him again.

“Ugh, couples,” Harry snorts.

\--

Liam hasn’t spent much time with Perrie, and there’s a very good reason for that. She’s very intimidating, all sharp edges and straight lines, and the way that she’s currently stabbing needles into the leg of his borrowed trousers has him worried for the health of his ankles.

“I wish I had more time,” she mutters, through a mouthful of pins. “We should have done this the moment you walked through the door.”

The suit is Harry’s, if only because there was no way he would ever fit into anyone else’s. Even now, it’s tight in all the wrong places and loose in all the others, and Perrie looks like she’s about to throw a fit. Her hair is hidden up in a shower cap, sitting in dye so that she can turn into whatever character it is she’s playing today, and even so she’s one of the scariest people Liam has ever met.

“This would be a lot easier if you would relax,” she tells him, before shoving another pointy pin into the hemline. Liam tries not to imagine those needles drawing blood. “I’m not out to hurt you.”

Liam nods stiffly, eyeing the doorway to make sure that no one is there to watch this. It’s a little embarrassing, how easily she frightens him. “That doesn’t mean you won’t,” he reminds her. “We are on a bit of a tight schedule.”

She huffs. “I don’t make mistakes,” Perrie explains, standing up, “Hold your arms out, please.”

He does as he’s told, sticking both arms out and trying not to think about what it is he’s supposed to be doing with his fingers. She lets out a sigh behind him.

“Liam, I want you to listen very closely to what I’m about to tell you,” she starts, and Liam finds himself tensing even though he knows he has no real reason to.

There’s nothing dangerous, really, about having Perrie tailor his clothes. The real danger is going to come later, when they’re at the arranged meeting place and the transaction is happening. The real danger is going to come when they have someone there who hasn’t been living out of their pockets, a wild card that they know next to nothing about.

“Yes?” he asks.

“Whatever Zayn tells you to do, you do it,” she instructs him. “I don’t care how stupid you think it is. Zayn has the eyes on all of us, and he knows what he’s doing. Whatever he says, I want you to listen.”

It’s practically common sense, but Liam understands why she’s telling him. “I will.”

“I need you to promise me, Liam.”

He bites his lip and takes a moment before answering. This all seems very real, suddenly, and even if he knew that it was before he can feel it pressing down on his shoulders now, the gravity of the situation. “I promise.”

“If we lose you, honey, we lose Louis,” she explains after a moment’s pause, stepping back and making her way over to her kit for more pins. “I know that might not seem so bad for you, getting Louis out of this lifestyle. But that’s not how it works, you know. People might come after him if he’s alone, if they think he’s let his guard down.”

Liam breathes in deep, trying desperately not to think about what would happen to Louis if he isn’t there. It’s not a possibility he wants to contemplate.

“I’ll listen to Zayn.”

Perrie smiles at him in the mirror. “Good. Out of the suit, please; I need to start sewing.” She sticks one last pin in the sleeve of his jacket; it goes all the way through to his wrist, breaking the skin and making him jump.

“Hey!” he yelps. “I thought you said you didn’t make mistakes.”

The smile doesn’t even falter. She shrugs and pulls the jacket off of his shoulders. “I don’t.”

\--

The most worrying part about this, Liam decides, is that Harry isn’t able to tail their target. The meeting was made so quickly that there hadn’t been time, and now he’s in the car right along with them to the restaurant instead of making sure that Mr. Cowell hasn’t decided to bring along some friends.

Louis and Perrie are a ways behind them, to give them the chance to scope out the area for any trouble beforehand. But that’s the best that they’ve got, a little bit of scouting just before the meeting. They won’t know who Mr. Cowell is bringing along until they’re there.

It isn’t that Liam doesn’t want to be there. He does. It’s good, his finally being able to contribute. Even in the car on the way to the restaurant, looking around in an attempt to find even one of Zayn's cameras in the car's interior, he knows that this is better than pacing around in the basement, waiting for something to go wrong and helpless to stop it if it does.

The whole situation is just a little more real when there’s a knife tucked into the pocket of his trousers. It’s a bit more nerve-wracking to know that Harry’s got a gun tucked in under his suit jacket, and Leigh Anne has all manner of weaponry hidden in her purse and under her dress.

It makes him feel less like putting the car in park and more like throwing Louis in the back seat and driving until they reach the ocean.

“You’ve got your bugs in?” Leigh Anne asks, pressing a receiver into her ear and pinning a microphone to the strap of her bra.

Liam nods, hearing the tinny transmission of her voice just a split second after the real thing. “They’re in,” he tells her. Harry leans forward and ruffles his hair.

“Relax, newbie. Your Louis is in good hands.”

Liam nods, loosening his grip on the steering wheel of the car. “I know.”

“Alright, boys, it’s time to get to work,” Leigh Anne says. She leans over and presses a kiss to Liam’s cheek. “Stay in the car. I’ll call for you if something goes wrong.”

Liam nods, swallowing past the cottony lump in his throat. He’s not sure he knows how to answer, so he doesn’t say anything at all. Leigh Anne and Harry climb out of the car.

“It’ll be just fine, Liam,” Zayn’s voice comes in over the earpiece, like he’s sitting in the passenger seat. “Louis and Perrie are pulling in on the other side of the lot, just like we planned. It’s going to work.”

And it does.

Louis and Perrie come around the corner and make their way into the restaurant. Perrie’s got red hair today, shimmering and beautiful in the afternoon sunlight. Louis has his own costume on, a tailored suit and a new tie. They look incredibly professional and collected; Liam isn’t quite sure he’ll ever understand how they pull that off.

Once he’s lost sight of them, it gets a bit boring. There isn’t anything to see or do, and even Zayn seems to have given up talking in the headset. Liam takes this to mean that things are going well, and he relaxes just a little bit, sitting back in his seat.

And then comes the knock on his window.

He jolts upright and looks over, expecting to see Leigh or Louis or Harry. Instead, it’s a stranger, looking rather nervous. Liam rolls down the window and leans out.

“Can I help you with something?” he asks.

The man smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, uh. I’m sorry to bother you, but do you think you could help me with my car? I think we need to jumpstart the engine or something; it won’t start.”

Liam smiles. “I might be able to help. Do you have any cables in your car?”

“I don’t think so,” the man says, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Zayn’s voice comes in over the earpiece, loud and insistent. “Liam, don’t get out of the car.”

Everyone seems intent to keep Liam out of trouble. Perrie had said to listen to Zayn and Louis had said to stay in the car. But even if Liam hasn’t left the house much in the past few weeks to spend time in regular society, he used to live in it. He isn’t completely helpless, nor is he stupid. This is a man asking for help, that’s all, and there’s hardly anything wrong with that. Saying no might draw attention, and that’s the _last_ thing anybody on the team should want.

“Just some engine trouble, though, you’re sure?” Liam asks, ignoring the warning. The man hardly looks like he could throw a punch, let alone work as a hitman for some rich guy with an agenda. “Don’t need to call a tow truck?”

“I don’t think it’s anything like that,” the man responds, “but I don’t know that I can make any promises. I don’t know very much about cars.”

“Liam, stay in the fucking car!” Zayn demands.

It’s nothing. No one even knows who Liam is; he’s never done anything with Louis before. They wouldn’t come after him. He smiles and nods, opening the door to the car and climbing out. “Let me just check the trunk and see if we have anything that might help,” he starts, and.

Well, then there’s something cold and circular pressing against the base of his spine. It might be a gun. Liam freezes, eyes wide.

“I thought you might be new,” the stranger says. Liam hears the click of the safety being pulled back. Zayn is shouting in his ear, but he’s a little busy trying to figure out how to get out of this situation alive to bother listening.

“I – New at what?” he asks, bringing both of his hands up. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

It doesn’t do anything. Liam hadn’t been too sure that it would, anyhow.

“You think we wouldn’t know about this?” the man asks. The gun moves, from the base of Liam’s spine to right over his left shoulder blade. Near his heart, pounding away at his ribcage. “We’ve been keeping tabs on your team for ages now. Thought I’d get to see that blonde fucker again, but I guess you’ll have to do for now.”

“How do you know Niall?” Liam asks, automatically, and realizes that he’s blown what little cover he might have had left. “What did he ever do to you?”

The man laughs. “It’s not like that, kid. I’m just finishing off a job.”

Zayn is still shouting, but Liam doesn’t think it’s directed at him anymore. He’s hearing names, a jumble of voices mixing in while Leigh Anne and Harry start asking for their check. Perrie and Louis are on a different frequency, but Liam knows that Zayn is telling them, too, that Louis is going to panic and come out here to save him and there is a _gun_ with _bullets_ and one of them could hit Louis –

He doesn’t think much, after that.

There’s a brief second where the man seems to think that he’s given up, because he starts talking again. “We’ll do worse than what happened last time, with that pretty-” Liam takes the opportunity.

He turns around and smashes his head into the stranger’s nose, hearing the crack of the cartilage snapping and hoping that the warmth he feels is blood. And then there’s another crack, louder, closer, and.

Liam realizes that he’s been shot when he’s halfway to the ground. Everything is white noise by the time his head hits the pavement.

\--

“Liam, Liam,” he hears, distant and familiar. Louis, but higher. Panicky. Afraid.

He doesn’t want Louis to be afraid.

There are other voices, too, fuzzier ones, ones he doesn’t know as well. “Morphine, needs more, won’t hurt,” someone says, and then he hears Louis saying his name again and he knows that people are lying because it _does_ hurt, it hurts quite a bit, everything is throbbing and pulsing and one of his arms is on _fire_ but mostly it just hurts to hear Louis crying like that.

“Don’t take him there!”

He wants to help, but forming thoughts is like moving through gelatin, slow and disorienting and very, very difficult. He’s fighting to open his eyes but they won’t listen, can’t lift up the way he wants them to, and it’s aggravating and frustrating but even those feelings are muffled, like someone has covered all of his senses in a blanket and he can’t get out from underneath.

“Shh,” someone else is saying, and then there’s a pinch and everything goes away.


	3. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have plans for when this sort of thing happens. They have _rules_. And Louis has never been one for rules, but if it means that Liam is going to get on with his life and have some relative peace for a change, he's decided that he will just have to find a way to cope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not at all what I wanted it to be. This was supposed to go into their past a bit more, but, honestly, I didn't really want to? I wanted to keep this bit nice and short, so I could give you hints about what you'll see in part 2 without giving it all away. Here, have ~1.5k of Louis moping.

It hadn’t always been like this.

Louis could remember that much, anyway, even through his own thick skull. There had been days before, when he hadn’t been such a danger to everyone around him. Given, what he could recall was seen with rose-tinted glasses, a haze of halcyon days with food and comfort, even if his clothes never fit quite right on his frame and his fingers were too cold in the winter.

There had been days where he and Liam were curled up around one another, Liam with his guitar and Louis with his clean record, and they’d been happy. Relatively happy, of course, considering that their home was a park bench and half a sandwich with the wrong “sell by” sticker on the box to split between them. Considering that Louis would leave at six o’clock sharp to find his mother crying and his piggy bank empty, _again_ , and Liam would go back to a family that hadn’t even noticed he was gone.

Looking at Liam now, skin tinged grey and shirt stained red, Louis wonders if maybe some things would have been better left alone.

“He’s going to be alright, Louis,” Perrie whispers from the foot of the bed, where she stands over a table full of sharp metal that hurts his eyes. Her gloved fingers are red, too, and there’s a smear of blood across her forehead. She’s never looked more terrifying, even with her eyes soft and her teeth gnawing her bottom lip raw.

That isn’t even the problem. “He should have stayed in the damn car,” Louis hisses, hating the way that his eyes are burning. It’s been years since he cried about anything.

Perrie shakes her head. “You’re not angry at him for that,” she mutters, placing her scissors and scalpel back into her kit. Her needles stay out, glinting red and silver. Louis wants to knock the table over.

Of course he isn’t. Of course she _knows_. They stopped being able to keep secrets from each other years ago, knew all the tells and facial expressions like the alphabet. He hates that more than anything, he thinks, how this team and their lifestyle has wormed its way under his skin like a virus. It would be impossible to leave it behind, he knows, but when he looks down at Liam, he wants to try.

“He should have stayed in the fucking car,” Louis repeats, and he means it.

Perrie shakes her head. “Why don’t you just say it?” she demands, voice sharper than it had been before. “You didn’t think he was ready to come, and you were right. You aren’t angry that he left the car, Lou, you’re angry that he was there in the first place. And that is _not_ Liam’s fault.”

They fall silent. There’s only the clink of metal and, when Louis reaches for Liam’s hand, the rustle of bedclothes. Perrie has thrown down the gauntlet; it’s up to Louis to decide whether or not he picks it up.

“I should have told him to stay behind,” he admits, feeling his shoulders sag. “He wouldn’t have – I should have _insisted_.”

He’s expecting to be reprimanded and told that he’s being ridiculous. He’s expecting a lecture, a regular seminar on self-loathing and how it’s hardly helpful to anyone. When he looks back at Perrie, though, she doesn’t look ready to yell. She’s frowning, certainly, and watching him with the kind of pity he’s always loathed, but she isn’t lecturing.

“You know exactly who you should be talking to,” is what she tells him instead, closing up her kit and stepping away from the bed. “I’m done here.”

“Thank you, Perrie.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Thank me when he wakes up, Louis.”

They both realize that it was the wrong thing to say almost as soon as the words leave her mouth; she winces, automatically going to correct her statement, but he waves her off and out of the room. Perrie goes, and the door clicks shut behind her.

Louis shatters. He kneels down next to the bed, bringing Liam’s hand to his mouth. “I’m not going to be there,” he chokes out, past the lump in his throat. “When you wake up, I mean. I’m not going to be anywhere near you.”

It’s not as though he expects Liam to answer. His hand is warm between Louis’ fingers, and he can feel a pulse, but even that is more than he dared to hope for when they pulled Liam into the back seat of the car.

“You’re going to have to be strong, you know,” Louis tells him, going for teasing and ending up watery. “I know you will be, but I just…”

He just can’t do this, is what he realizes. It’s difficult to talk when Liam isn’t looking at him, all encouraging and fond. Before they moved to the house, back when they were in the city and Liam spent all of his time with dead eyes and quiet frowns he thought Louis couldn’t see, it had been difficult enough talking; now, it’s near impossible.

“I’m sorry.”

It hadn’t been a secret, Liam’s unhappiness. He might have thought that Louis didn’t see it, but it was near impossible not to. And then they’d come here, and he’d seemed a little bit more at home. True, he wasn’t anywhere near how he’d been before this whole thing started, when he still thought that there was something better out there for the both of them, but. It was something.

Louis had been stupid and reckless, letting that small of an improvement cloud his judgment like this. Liam hadn’t been ready to go out yet; he was bound to try and do something heroic or stupid, just so he could feel like he was worth keeping around. Had Louis thought it through a little bit more, he would have known that much. He would have seen this coming, and he would have tried a hell of a lot harder to prevent it.

That certainly isn’t helping anyone now. He stands, pressing a kiss to Liam’s forehead. “Be good,” he warns, uselessly. And then he turns and leaves the room, knowing better than to look back.

Leigh Anne is in the hallway waiting for him. So is Niall. “He’ll be taken care of, Louis,” Leigh Anne promises him. He nods, trying to ignore the sudden thick feelings in his throat.

“And anyway, Perrie thought you might want to talk to me for a bit.” Niall pushes off from the wall. Fingers wrap around Louis’ wrist almost before he sees them coming, and he’s led down the stairs and out the back door.

They sit down on the grass, and Louis feels the breeze like ice against his skin. The sky is grey and overcast, and he thinks to himself, _how fitting_. “Don’t feel much like talking right now, mate,” he says, finally, when the silence has gone on for long enough.

“Course you don’t,” Niall replies, easily. As if he would let Louis walk away. Louis knows he wouldn’t, that the agreement is so he won’t get upset any more than he already is. “Talking helps, though, believe it or not. If you just hold it all in, you won’t be able to cope.”

“Does it get easier?” he blurts out, because he knows he’s going to ask it eventually and he needs to know. “Would it be better if you thought she was dead?”

He’s expecting some kind of reaction. A flinch, a gasp, _something_. Instead, Niall leans over and starts pulling at blades of grass. “Might be, I dunno,” he says. “It does get easier. She’s away from what we do, and she’s taken care of. And, last I checked, she doesn’t hate me.”

“Liam would never hate me,” Louis mutters, staring down at where his fingers sit limp in his lap. “It would –”

“Be a lot easier if he did,” Niall finishes, nodding. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

This time, the silence stretches on for a long time. There’s the noise of other people moving, of cars starting and doors closing, and Louis wants to run to the front of the house and stop this, whatever _this_ is. But Niall shifts until his legs are lined up next to Louis, until they’re touching from hip to ankle, and knocks his shoulder against Louis gently.

“It’ll be alright, you know,” he says.

“Yeah,” Louis sighs, trying hard not to think about anything at all. “I know.”

When they finally go back inside, when dinner is done and there’s nothing else to keep him busy, Louis gives in and goes back into his bedroom. The bed is made with fresh, clean sheets, and all of Liam’s things are gone.

He bites his lip until it bleeds.


End file.
